


All’s Fair in Love and War

by acacia59



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:45:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acacia59/pseuds/acacia59
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Revenge is a dish best served cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All’s Fair in Love and War

**Author's Note:**

> This was for a challenge at queen_slash that required an equipment failure, someone drinking something they hadn't had in a while, someone fakes a skill and a slip of the tongue.

 

**Prank #1**

Brian rolled over, coming to consciousness slowly with a moan. He heard laughter coming from the common area of the hotel suite, but he felt sure with that vague, quicksilver dreaming memory that something else had woken him. He supposed it didn’t matter. At least he had gotten a little sleep. They had another concert to get ready for soon and he had grabbed a quick nap before they needed to head out.

He rubbed his eyes, groaning and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He headed for the wash room, fighting off a nagging sensation that something wasn’t quite right. Brian flicked on the light switch and stared at his reflection in mirror on the opposite wall.

Brian’s shriek echoed through the suite.

Within seconds, Roger had skittered to a halt outside the door. “Who the hell is being murdered over here…oh!” He took one look at Brian and dissolved into helpless laughter on the floor.

John was hard on Roger’s heels. “What in the world…oh, my God. Brian, your hair,” John’s voice was strained with an effort to keep from laughing.

“He looks like a drowned rat,” Roger offered from the ground. His statement was unfortunately true. Brian’s unruly curls lay in limp, and undeniably _straight_ , locks around his face.

“Which one of you fuckers did this?” Brian looked at their faces, counting, and came up one short. “Where the hell is Freddie?” he growled.

“Darlings!” a voice called. “We need to leave now if we are going to make it in time. The cars are waiting.”

Brian gaped at the other two. “I can’t go on like this! I look ridiculous,” he spat. “I am going to _kill_ him!” he said with a growl of frustration and a calculating look.

 

 

 

**#2-Revenge**

Freddie rubbed his face and chest dry with a towel sporting a Queen crest and then collapsed onto the sofa in the dressing room. Brian was fussing with his hair by the mirrors with John, tragically blocking all the drinks.

Roger swept in, his skin glistening with sweat and his blue eyes sparking mischievously. “Ah, that show was just smashing, don’t you guys think? Despite some…ahem, unfortunate last minute style decisions.”

“That hat _was_ a disaster, Brian,” Freddie called. “Everyone could still see your hair, dear.”

Brian went rigid and glared daggers into the mirror. “ _Really_ don’t want to hear it,” he forced through gritted teeth.

“Well, I think it calls for celebration. The show, I mean, not Brian’s hat,” Roger chuckled, trying to raise the mood. “Shots, anyone?”

“Shots?” Freddie sounded incredulous. “I haven’t done that in a long time…” he seemed to reconsider. “Well, tequila, I suppose, if we’re celebrating.”

“Ergh, Freddie, you always get tequila, gross. John, since you’re over there, bring Freddie tequila and the rest of us something decent,” Roger shouted a bit too loudly, his ears still ringing from concert.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Brian asked, his eyes sidling over to the drinks guiltily.

“Don’t be such a spoil sport!” Freddie crowed as he took his glass from John and led the band as they downed the drinks. For a moment, a strange look crossed the singer’s face and then he gasped, “Oh God…fire! Milk, now!” and ran out of the room.

Brian frowned down at his empty glass and shrugged. “Hmm, somebody must have spiked his with cayenne pepper…or something.”

 

 

**With #3, Things Get Out of Hand**

Freddie was still recovering and brooding in the limo with Roger back to the hotel. “It’s always the quiet ones, you know,” he said, eyes narrowed and fist clenched in the palm of his other hand.

“Freddie,” Roger sighed, trying his best to be the voice of reason. “I’m not sure it was John…”

“Who else? Brian? He was too busy moaning about his damn hair. You?” Freddie shot Roger a suspicious glare. “Maybe…”

“It was not me.” Roger rolled his eyes. “Like I would come up with such a lame prank.”

“Hmmph, me either. Revenge will be sweet, my friend, revenge will be sweet.”

A few days later, the band was back in England and Brian, Roger and Freddie were huddled behind a large screen in the dressing room. They had all arrived separately with their families for this show and had been milling around backstage when Freddie had pulled them into the room.

“Freddie, what’s going on?” Brian asked impatiently, anxious to check on some equipment while there was still time.

“Well, I have never told you about my talent.” He paused dramatically. “Of impersonating one Veronica Deacon,” Freddie finished, proudly.

“Oh, God,” Roger groaned.

Freddie ignored him. “Any moment our Deaky will burst through that door, bearing an emotional note from his lady love to meet her here.”

“And what have you done with said lady love?” Brian’s voice was heavy with foreboding.

“Nothing dire, I assure you. She and the children are being entertained by a roadie with a talent for juggling, far, far away. I gave him 50 quid.”

Brian and Roger exchanged looks. Brian opened his mouth.

They were interrupted by the sound of the door opening and John’s voice floating over the screen.

“Ronny? What is this all about? Where are the kids?”

“Never mind the kids, Johnny,” Freddie trilled. Roger bit down hard on his fist to keep from bursting out laughing. The impression was really quite good. “All you need to worry about is getting naked as quickly as possible. Now.”

“What?” Disbelief warred with surprised desire in John’s voice.

“I don’t like to be kept waiting, you sexy man, you.” Freddie was incredibly convincing and even Brian had to avoid the others’ eyes to remain silent.

John had managed to get down to only his socks before Roger could not help himself anymore. He staggered out from behind the screen, laughing with great whoops of laughter, followed closely by Freddie and Brian. John took one look at them, standing stark naked in front of his cackling bandmates and went bright scarlet.

 

 

**It All Ends at #4**

The next morning the band had assembled in the lobby of the hotel. Freddie looked a tad green from the previous night’s escapades and Roger was wearing his sunglasses, rubbing his temples and muttering about finding something decent to eat for breakfast. Only Brian looked well rested as John was sitting across the room, hidden behind a newspaper.

Freddie looked over at the bassist with a bit of guilt and headed over to him, the others trailing him. “Hey, Deaky, no hard feelings, right? It was all just a bit of fun,” he said, plaintively.

John turned a page slowly with a deliberate rustle and flicked his eyes at the rest of the band.

“Brian, Roger’s in love with you. He likes to sit by your bed and watch you sleep. That’s when he straightened your hair. You are a very heavy sleeper, you know.”

Three pairs of astonished eyes widened and fixed on John, who returned to reading the newspaper, nonchalantly. Roger had turned a deep shade of crimson and was refusing to meet the open mouthed stare of the lanky guitarist. After a few moments of silence, John looked up over the top of the paper and shrugged.

“Oops, slip of the tongue.”


End file.
